


Seasons

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Changing seasons, Coffee, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Incest, M/M, Milestones, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3716887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam and Dean share a quieter future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marcia Elena (marciaelena)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciaelena/gifts).



> (Written for the self-indulgent fic meme: [LJ](http://dreamlittleyo.livejournal.com/249274.html) / [DW](http://dreamlittleyo.dreamwidth.org/84721.html))

He finds Dean outside, seated on the top step of the back patio. The sun has barely finished rising, leaving the sky bright but tinted along the edges with orange and pink. Dean is barefoot, still wearing the t-shirt and gray sweats he sleeps in (when he bothers to sleep in anything at all), and doesn't so much as twitch at the sound of the screen door creaking open and shut behind him.

Sam honestly can't tell if his brother has noticed his arrival. After a lifetime of close-range gunfire and explosions, Dean's hearing isn't what it used to be. But it's perfectly likely Dean's aware and simply too comfortable to be bothered with acknowledging Sam's approach.

Sam leans on the doorframe and crosses his arms, enjoying the familiar view as he takes in the strong line of his brother's shoulders, the slope of Dean's nape, the short-cropped hair that's more silver now than brown. It's too chilly for bare feet this morning. Even with his slippers on Sam shivers a little at the cool bite of the air. Dean seems to take as little notice of the temperature as he does of Sam's hovering presence, though. There's an unaccustomed calm in Dean's posture, and Sam can't remember the last time he saw his brother so at ease.

It's been a restless winter, and Sam is desperately glad for spring.

"Hey, asshole." Dean's voice cuts through the early quiet, gruff words tinged with unmistakable affection. "You gonna sit down and drink your damn coffee, or do you plan to stare at the back of my head all day?"

Sam blinks in surprise, only now catching sight of the full mug of coffee sitting on the patio to Dean's left. It's still steaming, its pleasant aroma an unmistakable invitation.

Sam crosses the narrow patio, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a fond smile. The step where Dean sits is easily wide enough to accommodate two, and Sam gingerly lifts the hot mug as he settles beside his brother. Dean nudges him with an elbow, deliberately interrupting Sam's first sip. 

If it weren't for a lifetime of honed reflexes Sam would almost certainly be wearing hot coffee down the front of his shirt. As it is he only sloshes a little over the side to splash on the step below.

"Fucking jerk," Sam mutters, but he can't summon any heat into the words.

Dean wears an expression of smug amusement as he drinks his own coffee, watching Sam with a smirk poorly hidden behind the chipped mug. When Dean persists in watching him even after the smirk itself fades, Sam's suspicious nature rankles. There's something too deliberate in the bland expression on Dean's face, and Sam glances narrowly down at his own drink. The coffee tastes fine—normal, if slightly stronger than Sam prefers—but that doesn't prove Dean _didn't_ fuck with it. Sam's brow furrows and his mouth purses into a pensive frown as he tries to suss out any clues he might have missed. He wastes an ineffectual moment thinking that at fifty-six, Dean should surely have outgrown the need for ridiculous pranks. 

"It's just coffee, dude," Dean says. But his face is still too innocent when Sam raises his eyes.

"What'd you do to it?"

"Nothing," Dean protests, eyebrows rising as though he's shocked at Sam questioning him. Sam glares until the feigned surprise fades, but in its wake is the same focused blank that roused Sam's suspicions in the first place.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?" he demands, scowling heavily.

Dean only shrugs, a maddeningly careless gesture, and takes another sip of coffee.

" _Dean_ ," Sam presses. He doesn't take another drink just yet.

Again that maddening shrug, this time with only one shoulder, and Dean says, "I'm just waiting for you to remember what day it is."

Sam blinks. Stares. His brain is only half awake, and clearly not up to mind games so early on a peaceful morning.

It hits him with an almost physical jolt, and he gapes at Dean in unvarnished shock. "You remembered our anniversary." It's embarrassing how skeptical he sounds.

"Damn right I did," Dean breezes smugly. "Mind you, I didn't _get_ you anything. Jewelry's not really your deal, flowers are stupid, and you've already got all the protective charms and spell books you could possibly need."

"Right," Sam agrees, brow creasing faintly. "But... You remembered."

A softer smile crosses Dean's face then, genuine and calming and warm. He leans over and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Sam's mouth. By the time Sam's brain catches up, Dean is back to staring across the backyard at the sun-slanted sky.

"I always remember," Dean says. 

Heat and gratitude coil in Sam's chest, and he smiles so wide he thinks his face might split in two. There's a subtle blush high on Dean's cheeks, warming pink amid the faint freckles, and Sam feels his own smile spread impossibly wider.

"I love you too, Dean," he says, and takes a second sip of coffee.


End file.
